


All Ye Faithful

by afewreelthoughts



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, Post-Canon, Selfridge's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:42:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2822288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afewreelthoughts/pseuds/afewreelthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy loved London at Christmastime.  It was easy to lose your worries in these bustling streets and fill your head with the sound of caroling and the scent of woodsmoke.  Christmas was a glorious distraction from the fact that he, Jimmy Kent, was working as a porter in a department store, and that he was alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Ye Faithful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bedwyrssong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bedwyrssong/gifts).



> written for the Thomas Barrow gift exchange

Jimmy loved London at Christmastime.  It was easy to lose your worries in these bustling streets and fill your head with the sound of caroling and the scent of woodsmoke. The wind bit his nose, so much that he looked as though he were wearing rouge.  He almost smiled at his reflection in the front window of Selfridge’s.  He looked slightly ridiculous, almost girlish, but it was a welcome change from the tired face that greeted him every morning.  Christmas was a glorious distraction from the fact that he, Jimmy Kent, was working as a porter in a department store.

 

Jimmy came to Selfridge’s to be a waiter at the Palm Court.  He’d been refused.

 

"There are simply no openings at this time, Mr. Kent.” 

 

Jimmy, nostrils flaring and head held high, patiently explained to the maitre d’ that he'd worked as first footman at Downton Abbey.

 

“There are simply no openings at this time, Mr. Kent,” the man said in the same affected monotone.

 

So Jimmy had taken a job as a porter, which gave him more than enough money to keep going, living alone in his half-dingy one-room flat.  But it was exhausting work.  His back had been in knots the whole first month.  His fingers had calluses.  Thin lines appeared on his forehead that would not go away.  He was waiting, Jimmy told himself, for an opening at the Palm Court, or to hear back from any of the advertisements he’d answered.  The aristocracy did not hire footmen in quite the numbers they used to, but he was the best of the best.  He’d hear back from someone soon.  Jimmy smoothed at the lines on his forehead.  He’d give anything to feel beautiful again.

 

He looked up from his own reflection to the window display in front of him.  It comforted him to think that his work helped to make this thing of beauty.  Four mannequins dressed in the latest styles stood and crouched in three inches of fake snow.  They seemed to be in the midst of a snowball fight.  What looked like evergreens towered over them, and a bright star shone above them all.   _I get the symbolism, but what’s a star doing out in the daytime?_  he thought to himself.  Thomas would have appreciated that.  Jimmy sometimes thought that he and Thomas were the only two clever people on earth.  Now that he thought of it, the mannequin the back, tall and wearing tweed, reminded him of Thomas.  He couldn’t say why – something in the way it stood?  Why did not matter.  Everything reminded him of Thomas these days.

 

The carolers outside Selfridge’s began to sing.  “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” one of Jimmy’s favorites, and he listened closely, until he began to cry.  This would all be over soon.  This illusion of warmth and happiness.  The wind would bite his nose, and his face wouldn’t look rosy or charming.  Just tired. Were it not for the music, he would not have stood at that window so long, but it all made such a picture of perfect beauty that he could not move from the spot.

 

When Jimmy cleared the tears from his eyes, he saw another face reflected in the glass. 

 

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Thomas Barrow said.

 

“Thomas!”  Jimmy exclaimed.

 

Thomas’s face smiled in the glass.  “It’s good to see you, Jimmy.”

 

“What are ya doin’ here?”  Jimmy met Thomas’s eyes in his reflection.

 

Thomas looked down at his feet, put his gloved hands in his coat pockets.  “I was just in London today meeting a friend for drinks.  Going back to me room for the night when I saw you.”

 

The song ended.

 

 _What friend?  I’m your best friend!_   Jimmy wanted to yell.   _Is this friend more important than me?_ “I said I hoped you’d find your happiness,” Jimmy said instead, “and I’m glad…”

 

Thomas smiled.  “He’s not that kind of friend.”

 

A weight lifted from Jimmy’s chest.  “He’s not?”   _Try not to sound too happy about it, Jimmy Kent,_ he told himself.   _Some friend you are._ “Well, I’m still glad for you.”

 

They stood in silence awhile, and Jimmy wished there were a way he could speak without words.  “I’ve missed you,” he finally said. 

 

“So have I, Jimmy,” Thomas said.

 

“Ya shouldn’t have.  I were a sod to you the whole time at Downton.”

 

“You weren’t!”  Thomas waved a gloved hand, his left one.

 

Jimmy stepped towards Thomas and met his eyes.  “I was awful to you.” 

 

Thomas said nothing, just held Jimmy’s gaze.   _Deny it!_ Jimmy wanted to scream.   _Deny it again, please… say everything’s fine between us, please…_

 

“Can I walk with you?” Jimmy asked.  “Back to where you’re stayin’?”

 

“Of course,” Thomas said.  They walked slowly and in silence.  Jimmy imagined Thomas didn’t have much to say to him.  They left behind the green wreaths and warm singing voices near Selfridge’s and descended into alleys swaddled in grey.

 

“It’s here.”  Thomas nodded towards a faded sign that said,  _“Rooms Available.”_ The street was deserted.

 

“It’s nice?” Jimmy asked.

 

“Nice enough… Jimmy?  Have you been crying?”  Thomas’s face softened in concern.

 

“No,” Jimmy scoffed.

 

“Were you crying?” Thomas asked more firmly.

 

“I miss you, Thomas.”

 

Thomas smiled at him.  “I’m right here.”  

 

Jimmy looked up at Thomas, and then he knew none of it mattered, the Christmas season, where he worked, if he ever came back to Downtown, if he ever felt beautiful again, as long as he could stay looking at this man forever.  “Could you stay with me?”

 

A spark lit in Thomas’s eyes.  It died.

 

“I’m not lyin’,” Jimmy said.  “I swear I’m not!”  He took Thomas’s hand, his left one.  “Thomas, I’ve missed ya more than anything else since I’ve come here.  More than Downton, more than feeling handsome... I know it’s silly to ask if ya could give me a chance to show that I love ya, but – ”

 

Jimmy felt a hand on his cheek, and he closed the space between his lips and Thomas’s. 

 

When they came up for air, Thomas’s hair was tousled, and Jimmy’s scarf half dangled from his shoulders.  Both their lips were red as cherries.  “May I come inside?” Jimmy asked.

 

The room Thomas had rented for the night was small and chill, the curtains and the covers thin, and in some silly, outdated pattern, but the place grew larger and warmer as Thomas and Jimmy’s clothing littered the floor.  Thomas closed the curtains, locked the door, and turned on the light beside the bed.  Thomas asked Jimmy probably two dozen times if he were alright with this with or that.  Over two dozen times, Jimmy said, “Yes.”  The word started as a quiet permission, and it became a joyful plea until he tangled his hands in Thomas’s hair, thrust once more between Thomas’s slick thighs, and came undone.

 

Thomas wrapped strong arms around him and said, “Happy Christmas, Jimmy,” softly into Jimmy’s hair as they both drifted off to sleep.


End file.
